Sketch
by Loyolablu
Summary: (slash) Evan/Pietro, Evietro, etc. The speedster expresses his artistic side one late night, er, early morning.


It was 4:45 a.m., and Pietro was sure his mind was out there somewhere in Bayville attempting to hail a cab, perhaps, so it could find its way back home to the skull it had deserted apparently some time back. 

Or maybe, the speedy mutant thought as he frantically erased a stray pencil mark, maybe that rum-raisin cake he'd tried with at Taryn Whatsername's party the night before had killed off all the cells the vodka punch had missed. In any case, he was operating without a mind, that much was clear. There just wasn't any other reason to explain his current actions and rationalize why he was up at the crack of dawn, wide-awake despite having only 15 minutes' sleep total, with a notebook between his knees, a pencil in his hand, and attempting to draw his sleeping boyfriend.

Attempting . . . and failing. Miserably. Pietro's eyes swept over the slumbering form at his side. Evan was sprawled somewhat at an angle across the bed, his legs tangled in the bedcovers, leaving the rest of the smooth, dark body exposed to a cataloguing sapphire gaze. The blond head was resting on one arm, the other stretched out across the mattress, brushing Pietro's bare hip. The teen's slightly open mouth and rumpled hair made him look all of about 10, guileless and innocent in his slumber. At peace. Pietro had awoken to this sight, still keyed up and restless from their earlier amorous activities. The speedster stared into the placid face, letting the image etch itself line by line into his brain. Yet that had not been enough. Looking at Evan wearing that expression, and in that pose that just ached to be captured, Pietro found himself wanting something tangible, something he could pull out whenever he wanted and look at and see that same air of calm, that same quiet beauty that he found he could never get enough of.  

But instead of going to the closet and pulling out the battered, old camera that still worked despite looking as if Fred had sat on it, for reasons Pietro was positive he'd never understand, he'd grabbed the nearest piece of paper instead, reasoning that the flash of he camera would have awakened Evan and maybe have distorted the picture. Besides, he'd taken an art class or two back in school in the City, and he hadn't been too bad. Plus, Evan had drawn pictures of him . . . pictures that were good. _Really good. It had surprised the white-haired mutant because the skater had never even hinted at being artistically inclined. Yet Evan had sketchbook after sketchbook of drawings . . . and many were drawings of Pietro. So perhaps, he admitted to himself, this was as much about trying to prove that he himself could draw just as well – even if he couldn't. But despite their relationship, their rivalry was in full effect . . . so Pietro knew he had to try._

He glared down at the paper, squinting at his "creation." With only the low light of a lamp to work by, he was conscious that he really couldn't see what the hell he was doing, was trying to get the pencil to trace out the same lines his own hands and tongue and fingers had traced only hours before. In his minds eye, Pietro saw his tongue traveling over the curve of Evan's hip, nipping at the shallow divot at the top. He could see his fingers tracing circles on the silky shoulders and gliding down his back, coming to rest at that sensuous curve at the top of his ass. Pietro could _see _all that in his head, could practically feel the soft skin beneath his fingertips. In his mind, he could sketch out every line of Evan's body to the minutest detail.

But his "mind art" didn't translate to paper well. He scowled down at his work, cursing himself for even trying, berating himself for even having the idea, for being up at that hour. Pietro glanced over as he felt the bed shift and swallowed a frustrated sigh.  Evan had changed position – now one knee was drawn up almost to his chest, and both arms were stretched above his head, much like a diver's. He wondered how the boy could stand to draw living people – and him  especially. Pietro knew he twisted and turned and thrashed about a zillion times in his sleep; when he slept alone, he almost always ended up twisted in some bizarre position, and was usually on the side of the bed he had _not _fallen asleep on. But then, Evan had had two things Pietro did not – actual artistic talent and patience. 

He erased some more, added a few lines here and there, and . . . erased yet more.  _Shit. This is so stupid_. Pietro bit the tip of the eraser. _What the hell's the matter with me that I'm sitting up at 5 in the morning making stick figures -- _

The bed shifted again, and this time, he heard Evan murmur something inaudible. Pietro looked down into the teen's face, a little startled to see sleepy dark eyes staring back at him. 

"Pietro?" Evan's voice was drowsy and uncertain. "What time is it? Why are you up?"

"I'm doodling," Pietro said shortly, erasing another errant mark. "Stop wriggling – you're making me lose my concentration."

"What are you doing? Something for school?" Evan rolled onto his side, and propped his head up on one arm. "Must be a big deal if it's keeping you up at night. On a Friday."

"Go to back to sleep," Pietro eyed his work, frowning. "We've gotta be up in two hours if we're gonna try to get the early train into the City. Lance says if we're not ready by eight, he and Shades are leaving without us, and after what happened _last time, I don't think you want me to run us down to the station." _

"No way, man. My stomach is still recovering." Evan struggled into a seated position and rested his head on Pietro's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, though -- I'm not that tired – hey." He peered into Pietro's lap. "That looks like my sketchbook."

The tips of Pietro's ears turned tomato-red. Busted. "Is that what this is? I just grabbed the first thing I could find." Dammit. He should've known the book belonged to the blond, but unlike most of his sketchbooks, _this_ one looked to have been relatively untouched.

"I was using it earlier." Evan looked at him. "What are _you _doing with it?"

"I already told you. Doodling." The corners of Pietro's mouth twitched, and he ran his hand over his hair. _Don't tell him, idiot . . . just rip the thing out. Burn it, shred it. Just don'tshowhim Don'tdon'tdon't  . . .  "You're always going on about how incredible it is to "draw by the first light of the sun" or whatever, so I thought I'd give it a try." He gave the boy a bemused smirk. "So far, I'm not impressed. Apparently even dating me hasn't given you any better concept of what having a life is, Daniels."_

Evan was now wide awake, staring at his boyfriend with confused eyes. "You're _drawing_ something? What? Can I see?"

_No. Hell. No. _"It's not done yet." Pietro hedged, turning slightly away from the blond. "And it won't be if you don't go back to sleep. I still haven't done your eyebrows. So –" Pietro's mouth dropped open when he realized what he'd said, and saw Evan's eyes go round with surprise. _Fuck. _Me.___ Raw. Fuck!_

"My eyebrows? What does that . . ." Evan inched closer. "Wait. Me? You're drawing _me?"_

Pietro bit his lip and pulled at the blankets . . . fighting the urge to burrow beneath it and stay there for a decade or two. "Um . . ."

Evan blinked hard. "'Tro . . .?" 

"I. . ." Pietro sighed, pressing a hand to his eyes. "Just . . . forget it. Go back to sleep." His blush hadn't abated, and he found he couldn't look at the teen as he admitted defeat. The camera would have been much simpler. Though there was the remote chance that the flash would have wakened Evan and startled him into hurling spikes, Pietro thought that even a spike in the nuts would be preferable to showing Evan what was on the page.

"Can I see it?" Evan's voice was almost shy. "I bet it's cool."

Pietro hesitated. "Forget it, Daniels. It's going to be trashed." 

"Come on . . . please?" Evan smiled a little, and rubbed Pietro's shoulder. "No one's ever drawn me before. . . except me. And I really don't like drawing myself."

"Why not? You can't draw your hair, either?" Pietro asked with a scowl. _Or your face. Or your neck. Or you arms. Or any fucking thing. Dammit. I suck. I actually . . . suck at something. No!_

The blonde boy laughed quietly. "Well that, and there's more interesting things to draw."

"Like what? Puppies? Bowls of pears? Your pie-in-the-sky _castle_? I'd love to see how you draw the security cameras and the missile launchers?" Pietro bit his tongue at his last remark. He and Evan had agreed not to bring up their respective teams or their living places when they were together. When with each other, the X-Men/Brotherhood crap became a non-issue. "Sorry."

"S'okay." Evan's voice was quiet. "I was going to say, _you're_ more interesting to draw."

The blue eyes widened a little. "Me?" Wary. "Well . . . I guess _anyone _can draw a stick figure . . ." He glared down at his slender frame disconsolately, poking at the bones outlined by his pale skin.

"You're a fucking nut." Evan shook his head, laughing. "I'm serious. You're, like, an artist's dream, man. Your body's, like, all angles. And long and lean. And the hair's more of a challenge than mine . . . it took forever for me to get the front right." Dark fingers carded the cloudy strands. "And your face . . ." he cupped one cheek in his hand, staring deep into the blue eyes. "It's unreal. It's like you have all these strong features . . . your nose . . . your lips . . . those eyes . . . they totally should _not _go together all in one face, but it works with you. You're so damn . . ." He faltered, biting his lip.

"Hot?" Pietro grinned. "Sexy? Gorgeous? Too-incredible-for-words? Perfection in a nice, tight, incredibly streamlined package?"

"Beautiful," Evan answered simply. The word went to Pietro's core, the quiet intensity of the blond's voice shaking him. "When my art teachers talk about the artist's aesthetic, the artistic ideal, I don't think of David, or Venus, or the Nike or any of that. I think of your face and how perfect it is."

Pietro ducked his head, his cheeks darkening with a flush. Flattery of any other type from any other source made the speedster preen. Hell, he knew he was hot, fast, and slick, so he viewed complimentary words as his due. But it was different with Evan – not just because he was falling in love with the blond, but also because he considered the mahogany-skinned mutant an equal – even if he'd never really admit it. Evan was almost like a kindred spirit – and he knew that the blond, like him, wouldn't say anything like that unless he was absolutely serious.

Still, unable to let the moment degenerate into one of almost overly sentimental mush, Pietro poked the dark mutant with his elbow and grinned. "My face as a masterpiece? Hmm. So maybe someone should paint portraits of _me. _Do statues of _me_ . . . a testament to my utter flawlessness. The world deserves it." 

"There isn't enough marble in the world, dude, to sculpt how big your head gets sometimes." Evan shook his head, grinning. "Damn . . . some people can't take a compliment. That's _never been your problem."_

"What?! All I'm doing is agreeing with you!" Pietro's face was the picture of astonished outrage. "Geez, Daniels. I'm trying to be the nice, agreeable boyfriend, and you're riding my ass--"

"Nah, _that was earlier," Evan said in a whisper, nipping Pietro's neck. "Maybe we can do it again  . . . __after you show me what you drew. I promise I won't laugh –"_

"Screw you! It's not _that bad. Nothing I __ever do is bad!" _Except this! NoNoNoNoNoNoNo!!__

"Prove it then. Stop fronting and let me see it." 

Pietro glanced down at the picture. Taking in the half-erased, scribbled in, mishmash of markings on the paper, he sighed. No way was this seeing the light of day. Not even the half-light of day. "You'll see it when I'm satisfied with it." _Which won't be any time this millennium._

Evan was silent a minute, and Pietro could _feel, _more than see, the blond boy nod. "Okay, I think I get it. I don't like people looking at my work until I get it where I want it. Outside opinions can really mess up the flow. Flow is everything, you know?"

"Whatever you say, Daniels. Now go to bed." 

"I _will get to see this, though . . . right? Someday?"_

There was a timidity and a subdued hope in his voice that made Pietro stop staring at his failed picture and look at Evan. Taking in the deep brown eyes, and the smile, and the open, happy look on the teenager's face, Pietro was thoughtful. He could, he realized, show Evan what he had . . . _drawn_ and the blonde boy would probably be very thrilled with it, content that Pietro had made an effort. Pietro realized that was a major part of why he cared for the teen. Why this relationship was making him happier than he ever thought possible. Evan wasn't yet so jaded yet as to want perfection in everything. 

And it wasn't fair. Pietro frowned. It wasn't fair not because Evan was selling himself short by not demanding the same surety Pietro himself demanded of all around him. The dark teen deserved more than just to settle for effort, and Pietro knew he wasn't one to rest on his laurels. He would try sketching his lover boy again. And try and try again until he got it right, or as close to right as he could get without killing himself. Evan deserved no less. Pietro glanced over, his resolve weakening under those pleading chocolate eyes.

"Screw it. Here. It's not good." Pietro blushed at the admission, but he knew that, Evan would probably not deride him. The blond might tease or mock him a little, maybe, but there would be nothing malicious in it. Pietro handed the pad to him with a shudder, and waited for Evan's chuckles to begin. 

"Hey . . . are you kidding me? This _is good!" Evan sounded much too excited for any normal person at 5 in the morning. "I like how you did my nose. And, hey . . . what are you talking about, man? You did my hair perfect! Or, uh, are those my ears . . ."_

"Don't bullshit me." Pietro sank back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. "It's crap. Freddy could have stepped on a box of Crayons and made a better picture. I tried to draw fast . . .  then slow . . . then . . . _fuck. I can't believe I'm actually letting you _see _this."_

"Well . . . I mean, this won't get you into the Bayville Institute of Fine Arts, maybe, but it's not bad. Seriously." Evan bent to give his lover a lingering kiss. "You have a real good grasp of perspective and detail. Your shading could use a little work, though –"

"Those are eraser marks." Pietro put his hands over his face. _What a fucking disaster_.

"Oh. Uh, that was going to be my second guess." Evan cleared his throat. "It's real nice, though. Kind of reminds me of anime . . . especially the hair."

"Anime?" Pietro sat up straight, eyes wide. "Anime?! You mean like Pokemon and all that crap?" Tabby was crazy for Pokemon and had somehow gotten Fred and even Todd obsessed with it. The speedster always had to fight the urge to scream when he heard that damned Joto theme song.

"Dude, do you have _any idea how popular anime is?" Evan's eyebrows lifted. "There are, like, a billion tutorials on the 'Net on anime. And you did it without even trying to!"_

"But anime's so . . . so . . ." Pietro shuddered, the Joto tune playing in his mind. "It's so . . . _annoying. All those stupid facial expressions, like the sweatdropping and the face . . . um  . . . the face . . . what's it called?" He thought back to an old conversation with Fred, and the Joto song looped through his mind. "Face-faulting. Yeah, that's it. __Stupid!"_

"Yeah, well some of it is kind of lame," Evan agreed. "But I like the artistic style a lot – and _you like Yu-Gi-Oh. __That's anime."_

"True . . ." Pietro smiled. He and Evan watched Yu-Gi-Oh a couple of times a week together after school, and were thinking about getting starter decks and having their own duels – for considerably more fun stakes than saving a loved one's soul from the Shadow Realm. The speedster had to admit the cartoon was cool. That Pegasus guy was hilarious. He shook his head slightly. Evan was saying . . . something.

"For real, 'Tro, I love this." Evan held the sketchbook to his chest. "Can I keep it?"

_He wants it? Maybe he had some of that punch, too. _"Whatever. As long as you don't show it to anyone. . ." He shuddered, imagining Lance's laughter if he ever saw the sketch, to say nothing of Evan's X-Geek compatriots. "I'll deny everything. _After_ I break you in half --"

"Maximoff, take a moment to use your brain. How the hell would _I_ explain to anybody, except maybe Scott, how and why someone would draw a picture of me sleeping? Sleeping and _naked_?"

_Good point. _"Well, no one can tell you're _naked,_" he returned. "I didn't get _that _far. You woke up before I could get to the good part." _And damn, is that part good. "But maybe next time . . ."_

"Is there gonna _be a next time?" Evan sounded surprised. "You're gonna do this again?"_

Pietro smiled smugly. He loved catching the blond off-guard, though he knew that quite a few of his surprises hadn't always pleased Evan. But oh well! That was all in the past. "Well, I overheard Todd saying something about some program at Bayville U. It's free. You go a couple nights a week and you can get credit for class. They have art classes. I thought maybe I'd go  . . . and see if it's worth my time. Maybe I'll look into it and learn how to draw something that looks like it could be an actual person. With normal hair." He paused, hoping that it had come out as casually as he'd hoped.

Evan leaned over him, his eyes questioning. "An art class? _You'd_ take an art class?"

"Why not? I need something to do on the nights you're under _surveillance _and Shades can't cover for you. And it'd give us a common interest. Other than _me, that is," he said with a snicker before turning serious. "And . . . I can do better than that." He pointed to the sketchpad. "I gotta keep up -- I can't let you actually __beat me in something. I have a reputation to uphold." The speed demon's grin belied the mocking words._

"You know . . . maybe I could go, too." Evan slipped an arm around the thin teen's shoulders. "Then we could hang out some nights without anybody asking any questions. Plus, I could use the practice. Art class twice a week is so not doing it for me." Evan's smile was blinding, but brief as he turned back to the picture. "I like the little "Zs" you drew next to my mouth. Cute."

"Screw you, Ev." Pietro turned over. "Go. To. Sleep."

"Not sleepy," Evan said around a tell-tale yawn. "Hey . . . one thing – why do it while I was sleeping. I coulda – I woulda, you know, posed for you or something. Unlike _some people, I can sit still for more than a minute at a time."_

"You didn't bitch about the way I moved earlier," Pietro said with a haughty grin that grew wider under Evan's embarrassed cough. "It's easier to concentrate when you're knocked out. Your mouth doesn't seem quite as big when you're sleeping."

"You're _so not funny, Maximoff."_

"And, um . . . I like the way you, uh, look when you're asleep." Pietro felt his face flush. He was venturing into potential schmoopy territory, and he knew he'd need to tread lightly. 

"The way I . . .?" Evan tilted his head, studying the white-haired teen intently. "_How do I look?"_

"It's hard to explain." Pietro bit his lip. "It's just . . . you look so . . . like you're . . . um . . . you know. Kinda like . . . um . . . _you _know . . ." He risked a glance over at the chocolate-skinned boy. His gaze skimmed the smooth skin and full lower lip, the cottony lemon hair, and the dark eyes, still misty with denied fatigue as Evan waited for him to continue. Pietro sighed and gave up.

"You look . . . beautiful, all right?" Pietro said in a low voice, his fingers tracing circles on one of Evan's forearms. "Just . . . beautiful." He blinked hard, mulling his words. "You just have this  . . . this _look. I see it and I . . . just, um, Ikindalosemymind. I mean . . ."Pietro's ear tips colored tomato-red."I just __like it . . . all right? Not that you're not hot awake, but . . ." Evan's smile was getting him even more nervous, and he nearly wriggled his way off the bed and onto the floor. "You look _good._ Maybe not as good as _me, _but, well, perfection can't be topped, you know."_

"I thought perfection _liked being topped." Evan said lasciviously, waggling his eyebrows. "Or at least, perfection likes being __blown . . ."_

 Pietro groaned, remembering just how Evan had . . . oh yes. He was again growing warm in the nether regions. "Fuck you, Evan."  

"I thought we were gonna try that _next week."_

"You're a regular fucking comedian, spykeboy. And I must be tired as hell, because I _almost thought that was funny." Pietro glowered, shifting around in attempts to find a more comfortable spot. Reaching over to flick the lamp off, he turned to the windows. Sunlight splintered through the blinds, throwing shards of light on the floor. "C'mon. Back to bed. For what we've got planned in the City, you're gonna need the energy."_

"'Kay. Just let me put my sketchbook somewhere safe. I don't want my picture to get trashed." He left the bed quickly, stashing the book in his overnight bag. Returning to Pietro's bed, Evan leaned in and gently licked the sensitive spot below the speed demon's ear, repeating the action when the snow-haired teen twitched. 

"You know .  . . every time I think I've gotten you figured out, you totally go the other way on me," Evan said, shaking his head slowly. "Being with you is a lot of things, but boring isn't one of them. It never has been."

"And it never will be. You'll _never figure me out, Daniels. What kind of fun would _that _be?" Pietro said lightly, pulling Evan down and wrapping his arms firmly around him.  Evan gave him a last dreamy smile, and after a few minutes, his eyelids fluttered closed. Pietro watched until he saw that same peaceful expression return to the boy's face -- the same look that had inspired him to take up pencil and paper to begin with. Pietro smiled, and let himself drift back into slumber with that image in his mind. _

Finito


End file.
